


First

by 7slash20



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7336945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7slash20/pseuds/7slash20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe meets Don's young assistent and sees some unexpected potential</p>
            </blockquote>





	First

**Author's Note:**

> I found some old stories on my hard drive; maybe some of you have a s much fun as I had re-discovering them.  
> Be warned: I'm not a native speaker and the stories are not beta-ed. Read at own risk!  
> (Dimeth is the name I used for my Highlander stuff, just in case you wondered...)

First  
By Dimeth

 

Don had invited me over for dinner.  
“Nothing formal,” he’d said, patting my shoulder reassuringly, “just Christine, her niece Mary, and Joe Dawson, an old Watcher friend. – And you and me, of course.”

I didn’t feel comfortable around Christine nor did I like the idea of spending the evening as her niece’s partner at table. Didn’t take a genius to figure out the idea.  
And, worst of all, another Watcher.  
Probably another quite boring evening and I silently prayed for an early end as I nodded my consent to Don.

“Eight o’clock sharp,” Don admonished, “you know Christine…”

Yeah, I knew Christine. Her harsh tone on the phone when Don was working late, forgetting the time over old books, her cold as china appearances at Shakespeare & Co. Beautiful for her age, if only on the outside.

 

In the end, I was running late; it was raining and the cheap bouquet of flowers, pink carnations and Asparagus green, I had bought for Christine last minute, looked drowned. Like myself. Great introduction.

Christine thanked me for the flowers with a thin-lipped smile and carried them to the kitchen - probably directly to the bin.  
Don took me into the living room where the table was set – beautifully set, as I had to admit. Cream, silver, and white, delicate arrangements of flowers, very elegant, just the right amount, and flickering candles, reflecting in the silver cutlery, vases, and candlesticks.  
Four eyes turned to my face and I had the grace to blush at the scrutiny.

Don introduced me, and I shook hands with Don’s Watcher buddy, before I was seated next to Mary, who turned out to be a non-descript twenty-something girl like dozens I met at the university every day with henna-dyed hair and a vast urge to touch me. Even during the meal, which was actually excellent, she found lots of opportunities to let her hand rest on my forearm or brush my hand with her fingertips.

Quite unnerving habit this fumbling, I thought, and met the gaze of the man who sat opposite me. Dickson?  
_No, Dawson. Joseph Dawson._  
He regarded me with an expression I could not read, then turned his gaze down to Mary’s hand on my forearm, smiled at me and winked. I didn’t actually recall the last time a man had winked at me, but the small gesture took me by surprise and I blushed. At least I think I did, because I felt heat spread on my face.

I stared down to his wrist, to the tattoo on the inner wrist to be specific. He followed my gaze and when our eyes met again, he still smiled. I turned my arm and lifted my sleeve slightly to let him see mine. There wasn’t much to see actually, because I had it tattooed only the day before and it was still covered by a huge band-aid.

Dawson said: “So, you’re working with Don?”

I simply nodded, eyes downcast, doing my awkward grad student’s shyness act.

“Don’t you mind being around dusty books day in and day out? Aren’t you a bit young for that?”  
His eyes were of a curious gray, steel-colored, but warm.

“Definitely,” Mary piped up. “I’ll take you dancing on Sat.”

_Right, exactly what I need._  
“Maybe next time, you know, we’ve got a whole bunch of new books, old books, I mean, to catalogue…” 

She made a huffing sound and turned back to Christine.

My gaze was drawn to Dawson’s face again: Hair, beard and eyes displayed a multitude of metal tones. 

He was talking to Don now, took a sip of the quite expensive Bordeaux and then laughed about something Mary had said. One of his front teeth was slightly chipped and it gave his smile something special. A little imperfection for emphasis. 

 

The evening went too fast and when it was time to go, he asked me whether he could give me a lift. 

Before I could answer, Mary took my arm, pressing it firmly against the side of her breast and said. “That would be great,” delivering her address like he was a taxi driver.

I slipped my arm out of her grip and she went to get her coat.

“That would be kind, Mr. Dawson.” I said politely.

“Call me Joe,” he smiled at me, “pleasure’s all mine.”  
His right hand vanished under the table and came back holding a cane. He bent his upper body forward in an odd angle and pushed himself to an upright position by the power of his arms alone.

“He was crippled in Vietnam,” Mary whispered to me, just loud enough for Dawson to hear, too.

His head shot up and I could see the color of shame spread on his face.

“I didn’t think Adam wanted to know the details, Mary, but thank you for informing him.” His eyes didn’t mirror the barely hidden anger in his voice, there was just sadness.

 

The drive was silent except for Mary’s constant babbling.  
I sat in the back of the car and watched Joe’s face, examined him closely in the rear-view mirror. I saw lines of worry and pain and a lot of those from laughter. I saw restlessness and the beginning of resignation in his eyes.

“Won’t you come up for a cup of coffee?” Mary’s voice startled me in the sudden silence. I hadn’t realized the car had stopped.

“No,” I stammered, “it’s late, I’m tired. Maybe next time. Good night, Mary.” 

“Party-pooper,” she muttered. “You’re quite a bore.” She gave the door a hard shove. The sound reverberated through the car. 

I met Joe’s gaze in the mirror. He smiled. 

“So? Where now?” He was waiting for me to give him my address, obviously, but I wasn’t ready to let him go like this. 

“I’m not really tired,” I admitted. “How about a cup of coffee?”

 

In the small hours Joe was back to his hotel room. Alone. 

They had been at a bar until it had closed and then taken a walk along the Seine. They had talked about books, music, history, dreams, everything. Somehow neither of them had been willing to let go. Adam had walked next to him, falling into Joe’s pace naturally, not like most people who either ran ahead and waited for him or made a show of walking slowly, as if they would trip over their own feet any moment. 

Adam was different, not only it that respect. He had been shy but interested, polite but not distanced and although so much younger than Joe, it hadn’t been Joe talking and Adam listening, but a real talk between equals.

Joe switched on the light, letting his gaze wander over the familiar room. This wasn’t just another hotel room, but -since he stayed here for the umpteenth time over the years- it was kind of home. 

Too wired to even think of sleep, he ran himself a bath, hoping the warm water would soothe him.

Later, lying in the tub – a tub especially designed to meet the needs of old and disabled persons – Joe drifted in the warm water, eyes closed, thoughts meandering, replaying bits of the talk he had with Adam during the night. Had Adam really suggested what Joe had understood? 

But even if he had gotten exactly what Adam had said, in the end it all came down to two things: One, Joe didn’t like one-night-stands, especially not with people he had to meet later on a professional basis and, two, having sex with a kid – even if it was on a regular basis- wasn’t his cup of tea.

Yet, Adam – Joe let the name roll around on his tongue, said it loud and liked the way it resounded in the small bathroom with the slight echo from the tiled walls – Adam had beautiful hands, long fingers, beautiful eyes, and what a voice.

And even after Mary’s unbidden remarks about Joe’s missing legs, Adam had been… _would he really have pulled it through? ___

Joe’s hands moved over his chest, over his hip and down his thighs until he felt the scarred tissue.  
He remembered his legs. They had been long, well-muscled, slightly furry, ending in slender feet.  
And he still felt the sharp sting of loss, even after almost twenty years.

Sex hadn’t been the main thing on his mind ever since he’d lost his legs. To be honest, except Amy’s mother –another sting of old pain- there had been nobody to bed him more than once.  
And honestly, celibacy was much better than a misery fuck.

His left hand travelled back up over his belly and came to rest –tugging softly at the wet hair- on his chest.

Yet, there was a whole world between misery fucks and celibacy, and Joe had become a king in this world. Everything he needed was with him and fully functioning: his hands and his – admittedly vivid- imagination.

Joe slid deeper into the hot, fragrant water, deeper, until his whole body except his face was submerged. He heard nothing but the thundering of the water as it filled the tub and, faintly, the hammering of his heart.

His left hand travelled over his chest, slippery from the mix of olive oil and detergent, felt the softness of the thick pelt on his belly, reaching down to his groin. His fingers spread slightly and slid over his hip to his buttock, squeezed, than felt the finer hair on the remnants of his thigh, to settle with a low moan of relief and pleasure around his cock.

Joe blindly reached for the faucet and turned off the steady flow of hot water.  
In the sudden silence he heard his laboured breathing and the last few drops that fell, disturbing the steaming surface.

Joe closed his eyes. His grip on his cock loosened, firmed, loosened again. Moving to the base, his fingertips tickled over the loose skin of his balls. 

Over the years, he had become an expert in self-pleasuring – how could he not with almost two decades of practice. He knew he was regarded a charming, sophisticated womaniser until it was time to drop his pants. After that he was usually the target of their pity. Pushing the thought aside, he began to stroke his cock to full hardness, going through his favourite fantasies. He’d had dozens of women over the years – that way. Yet, he was only mildly surprised to watch a young grad student peel off his wet coat, look at him with green-golden eyes, shedding the rest of his clothing with a smile.

Joe had long since accepted that his sex life was mostly confined to fantasies and even longer that he could be attracted to men. He had never acted on it, though. Being a member of a secret society wasn’t making life easier, especially not in that department.  
With a sigh, Joe returned to the image of the man he had met at Don’s place hours before. 

Adam stood naked in a pool of shed clothes, his head slightly cocked to one side, looking at Joe with those incredible eyes, game for anything, waiting for Joe to catch up.

“Touch yourself,” Joe whispered.

A smile crossed Adam’s lips and his hand moved down his hairless, smooth chest. His nipples were brownish buds, erect, waiting to be sucked and bitten.

Joe’s gaze caught up with the moving hand, just as the tip of the index finger dipped into the hollow of the naval, then, together with the other three fingers vanished in the thick patch of dark pubic hair. Adam’s eyes left his own hand to meet Joe’s before they closed when he took hold of his half-hard penis.

Simultaneously, Joe’s grip on his own erection loosened.  
_No need to rush_ , he thought.  
This could turn out to be a really hot number with the kid.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Adam asked. ‘Joe?’

Joe liked the way Adam said his name, soft like a purr, but insistent.

Looking down at the kid’s penis, now fully erect, dark with blood, long and not too slim, Joe’s plan for the night changed. His original idea had included a part where Adam would ask, would _beg_ Joe to take him.  
Watching the shallow strokes Adam gave his own cock, Joe was ready to beg the kid to take _him_.

‘Joe?’ Adam repeated in a low voice.

“Take me,” Joe whispered, then licked his dry lips. “Please, Adam, take me now.”

Adam smiled and stepped closer.

The insistent poke of the butt plug Joe had brought into the tub, against his thigh made Joe let go of the handle which helped him to get in and out of the tub, and take hold of the toy instead. That was tricky. As soon as he was unanchored, his body sank and Joe felt the warm water lick over his face. 

Adam’s breath washed over Joe’s cheeks as his cock made contact with his perineum.  
‘Foreplay?’

“Forget it, man. Take me. Start slow. That’s foreplay enough.” Joe forced out between clenched teeth, trying to assume a position that allowed penetration. Spreading his legs further, he felt the tip of the digit at his entrance.

‘Lubrication?’

“First drawer on the left.”

Before Joe had finished his sentence, the almost new tube of KY was pushed into his right hand, lid already unscrewed.  
Adam looked at him expectantly.

“Go on, help yourself.”

‘Turn on your stomach?’ Adam suggested.

“No. NO.” Joe took a deep breath, pressing against the intruder.  
“Wanna see you take me,” he looked at Adam. “If you don’t mind.”

‘My pleasure,’ Adam sighed as the tip of his cock slipped past the first tight ring of rectal muscle.

“Slowly, please… take it slow,” Joe moaned, pushing the digit further in. A sharp stab of pain forced his eyes shut. For a moment he feared the pressure would be too much, that something would tear. Stars were dancing in the velvety red darkness behind his closed lids. He breathed deeply, trying to get accustomed to the penetration.

Opening his eyes again, he watched Adam fight for composure. His head was thrown back, exposing the long throat. His lips moved, but no sound escaped. Sweat had broken out all over the pale skin, making it shine. He moved slowly, holding back, if the quiver of muscles was anything to go by.

“Sweet Jeezus, you are beautiful…” Joe groaned.

‘Take hold of the backboard.’  
Though he usually didn’t like to be commanded (neither in bed nor anywhere else), Joe did as he was told.

‘Careful now,’ Adam said, lifting Joe’s hip higher, resting the remnants of his thighs against his chest, and at the same time, he shoved his cock all the way into Joe.

They groaned in unison as Joe’s prostate was hit.  
Remaining fully sheathed and keeping perfectly still, Adam took hold of Joe’s weeping cock and began to stroke it.  
Joe’s body alternated between arching into Adam’s hand and pressing down until he felt his coarse pubic hair against his own spread buttocks.

“Almost there,” he breathed, closing his eyes, “almost…”  
Adam’s cock was pressing against his prostate constantly, the touch of his hand on Joe’s cock and on his balls was almost  
“…almost…”  
unbearable hot.  
“…there.”  
He moaned as his world exploded into dark spangles in deep-red darkness.

Moments later, his eyes flew open, when somebody was rapping at his door.  
“Monsieur Dawson, are you alright?” The somebody asked in heavily French-tinted English.  
_The night porter._

“Yeah,” Joe mumbled, then cleared his throat and said very loud. “Yes, I’m fine, I’m sorry if I disturbed anybody.”

The porter mumbled something, then silence fell again.

Joe regarded his body, crammed into the tub with his shoulder blades and back of his thighs pressed against the enamel tub walls. He felt a huge grin split his face, grabbing the handle to turn around. The movement made him aware of the position of the butt plug and he groaned as he pulled it slowly out.

Joe washed up, got out of the water with the help of the tub seat. He dried off, transferred from the tub seat to his wheelchair and then into his bed.

The sheets felt wonderfully cool and smooth against his hot skin. His whole body was still tingling in afterglow.

His last thought before sleep claimed him finally was _‘Wow, that kid’s got potential.’_


End file.
